Where is the placewhere I stop blaming you forwhat you said or didn't say,where I cease from judging myselffor what I did or didn't do,where labels are washed awaylike words from a newspaper,yesterday's headlines no longerthe truth of who we are?

Come meet me where the heart is ripe with the remembrance of metta,where we are no longer arguing about forbidden fruitand what led to The Fall.Our amnesia for the sacred will keep fueling old storiestill we breathe into vulnerability,and it begins to feel like home.

After some challenging experiences this month and a conversation with my mentor, I realize that it's hard to wake up in the relative realm when past hurt and future expectations pull me away from this moment. In the absolute realm, I catch glimpses of the no fault zone, and how peaceful it is here. When I'm tired of blaming others or judging myself, the Universe asks me to sit still and get quiet. Breathing into the vulnerability, I know it's the only peaceful way to make this body, this life, feel like home. From this place, there is the possibility of doing small great things.

If the poem resonates, great. If not, it's not a problem. May each sit, each word spoken or written, each insight you experience be for the benefit of all beings everywhere without exception.

“If I cannot do great things, I can do small things in a great way.”― Martin Luther King Jr.